


I'm Just A Problem That Doesn't Wanna Be Solved

by geckoholic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Awkward Sexual Situations, Desperation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, New 52, Painful Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: The agreement, as it stands, is a couple months old. Back around New Years, they had to deliver Bats to Catwoman's doorstep in a last ditch attempt after the chemical route didn't take. It was awkward for everyone and, from what Jason heard, had served to curtail eye contact in the manor to a minimum for a few days. He and Dick had a conversation about it a couple weeks later, and really, this kinda shit happens to them often enough that certain... contingency plans seemed like a good idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sadistrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadistrix/gifts).



> Listen. I know this ship already has an illustrious collection of sex pollen fic, and I appreciate that, but it was one of the requests and I love the trope, and so, yes, hello, let me add another one. XD This was supposed to be much longer and have some actual plot and relationship development and end on a happier note, but I caught a persistent stomach bug and my ability to plot or porn kinda went poof, so I had to cut it short. Maybe I'll revisit it later. We shall see.
> 
> Beta-read by infiniterain and cloud-atlas. Thank you both so much!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Novocaine" by Fall Out Boy.

The sound of loud, insistent knocks on his front door sends him on high alert the second it registers, wakes him up good and proper in the space of a couple seconds. Jason angles for a gun – there’s enough stashed away in here and one of them is almost always within easy reach – and strides to the front door, only opening it an inch, up to the point where the chain catches.

He lowers the gun immediately. In front of the door, in full night-vigilante-getup, domino mask and everything, stands Dick. To say that's a surprise would be an understatement; even before Dick kinda died and kinda really didn't and Jason socked him in the jaw for it, their relationship didn't much lend itself to surprise visits. Years ago, maybe, they could have. There was a brief window after Dick resigned himself to having a successor and Jason had grown into being Robin enough that Dick ceased to be an unattainable forerunner when they'd became colleagues, brothers, _friends_.

But that seems like it happened in another life. They were different people back then, and the people they are now sure don't knock on the other's door unannounced unless there's a damn good reason. Jason hefts an eyebrow and contemplates a quip, extra insulting given the time of night, but there’s something _wrong_ in Dick's posture, the way he stands slightly crooked, swaying on his feet, both arms wrapped around his middle.

He opens the door and steps aside and, once it’s safely shut again, reaches up to remove the mask from around Dick's eyes. The flinch Dick gives at the contact and the way he keeps his gaze downward, eyes hooded, only adds to the picture of acute discomfort. It finally clicks when Jason looks him over, notices the sheen of powdery green residue sprinkled over his chest and shoulders and clinging to his hair, and the visible bulge between his legs confirms his suspicion – Dick caught himself a dose of one of Gotham's classics. Pollen have become a standard, sold and copied in the underworld like fear serum and whatever concoctions the Joker comes up with. It's the edge of humiliation they all provide, Jason suspects, that makes them so popular. 

The agreement, as it stands, is a couple months old. Back around New Years, they had to deliver Bats to Catwoman's doorstep in a last ditch attempt after the chemical route didn't take. It was awkward for everyone and, from what Jason heard, had served to curtail eye contact in the manor to a minimum for a few days. He and Dick had a conversation about it a couple weeks later and really, this kinda shit happens to them often enough that certain... contingency plans seemed like a good idea. And seeing how pretty much everyone else is either much younger or much older or an ex and that would be _weird_ , well. Dick thought it made perfect sense and Jason would've rather bitten off his tongue than point out that he spent a good portion of his teenage years crushing on his predecessor, which makes this arrangement its own flavor of weird.

And now Dick is here to call in that favor.

“I need – ” he starts, then falls silent, lets out a long breath and licks his lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “I need some help.”

Jason curses under his breath and puts his palm between Dick’s shoulder blades, ignoring the full-body shiver that the action prompts, and guides him into the bedroom, making him sit down on the bed. They stare at each other for a couple awkward moments – or rather, Jason stares, Dick just sort of blinks, a pretty little blush creeping out from under the edge of his costume and onto his cheeks – and yeah, turns out there’s a difference between a safety measure that seems perfectly reasonable at the time at which it is discussed and the real thing. Of course, they both knew their lives are ridiculous and being dosed with potions that incite any number of different mental and physical reactions is somewhat commonplace, but it never really seemed like it might actually come to pass. And it might be mean, and selfish, but right now Jason might have actually preferred it if Dick were here fighting a fear serum, as horrible an experience as that is. Of course, if that’d been the case, he wouldn’t _be_ here.

“Do you, like. Want a glass of water?” Jason asks, sitting down next to him. And it’s dumb, he should handle this better, address the big artificially horny elephant in the room head-on, be direct, abrasive, _so how do you want it, hand, mouth, or cock?_ , something like that, but… oh fuck, this is harder than he expected.

Even through the haze, Dick manages to look up and shoot him an incredulous glare. He curls in on himself again right after, arms tightening around his belly, and yes, okay. They both know what needs to be done, why he’s here. Putting it off isn’t going to make that any easier to deal with.

“Okay.” Jason clears his throat, awkwardly patting Dick's leg, but removes his hand when that causes a deep, throaty and kinda agonized moan. He’s in pain, then. Maybe it takes effect quickly; maybe he hesitated before he showed up, tried to avoid it, see if the symptoms might pass or if he could take care of it alone. Jason surely would have and Dick’s less stubborn than the rest of their lot but, thinking on it, Jason can’t recall him ever asking for help on anything _for himself_. Call in favors to help out Bats, sure, but the words _I need_ – yeah, Jason’s fairly sure he’s never heard them from him before.

On the other hand, pain or no, this isn’t going to go down without a fair amount of contact. Jason reaches out and gently curls his own fingers around Dick’s, pries them away from his body and pushes him down with a hand on his chest. He leans over and peels the lower half of his costume and his underwear away – Dick’s with it enough to lift his ass and wriggle a bit to help – and tries not to take the hiss Dick gives at the first touch to his cock personally. He’s rock hard, has been for a while judging from how searing hot the velvety skin is to the touch, flushed a deep blood-thick red, and wet and sticky already.

Once upon a time Jason would have sold his soul and then some for that sight. He would have sacrificed even more for being allowed to _touch_. But that would have assumed active consent and enthusiastic participation and offering it to him now, like this, is just exactly the kind of cruel joke life likes to pull on Jason a lot. There's a rift between them that seems insurmountable and makes this feel like a betrayal, and anyway, at this point his soul is way too tainted for anyone to trade it in for so much as pair of wet rags.

Jason bites his lip and closes his eyes. A little belatedly, Dick lets out another quiet, distressed grunt at the contact, and Jason gives him a first tentative tug. The sound that produces is somewhere between a moan and a whine. There’s no way out of this but through, however, and so he closes his hand around him and gets to business. After another couple strokes, Dick’s upper body shoots up on an aborted cry – whether out of pain or arousal Jason can’t tell, likely both – and Jason has to catch him so he doesn’t lose his balance and topple over, guide him so his forehead rests on Jason’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around his back to keep him in place while the other goes back to work. Dick’s breath puffs out hotly against Jason’s shoulder while he works out a rhythm, paying close attention to each minute reaction, to each hitch in his breath and each moan and whimper; the faster they can get this over with, the better, for both of them. And Dick is _ridiculously_ responsive, his hips swiveling along which each twist of Jason’s hand, thrusting up, constantly making noise.

He spills all over Jason’s hand after what feels like seconds and hours at the same time, and near collapses in Jason’s hold as soon as it’s over, panting like he’s run a marathon. Jason pushes him back, strokes strands of sweaty black hair out of his face with his free hand and tries to smile reassuringly. Given how that’s not something he practices on the regular, he probably misses by a mile, and Dick inhales and looks away, disentangling himself.

His face is still flushed red, but it looks healthier, receding orgasm rather than pain and exertion. His eyes dart down to the mess on Jason’s other hand, then to his own crotch, and he winces and hastens to redress and put himself away.

“I, uh,” he mumbles. “Thanks, I guess.”

And it’s not like he needed the reminder – being covered in cooling jizz is not, and never will be, a sensation that’s easily overlooked – but it’s only now that Jason becomes _aware_ enough to do something about it. He wipes his hand on the sheets and then promptly doesn’t know what else to do with it, so he folds both hands in his lap and resists the urge to wring them or twiddle his thumbs.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” he says, and from the way Dick’s gaze shoots up to him and then quickly flits away, Dick never had any other plans. He blushes a little harder, in clear embarrassment this time, and rises to his feet.

Some part of Jason knows he shouldn’t just let him run out like this. Technically Dick had been _poisoned_ and he should be monitored, checked over, looked after. But it just so happens that Jason knows a thing or two about losing control over your own body, your own mind, and he can’t quite bring himself to suggest they draw this out. If Dick wants to leave, rush home and forget all about it, then Jason will let him. 

He stands as well, clears his throat. “You going to be okay?” 

“Sure.” Dick nods, dredging up a strained smile that might as well have been scribbled onto his face for how convincing it is. “A shower and a couple hours of shut eye, and I'll be fine.” 

The unfairness of it all comes rushing back in as he escorts him to the door, because Jason wants to kiss him goodbye. He wants to put his hands on Dick's face, pin him in place and chase away the embarrassment. He wants to be selfish; he'd also give anything to make what just happened feel like less of an ordeal, another thing to stand between them in the long run. But all he gets to do is watch Dick's walls go back up – aching and humiliation neatly tucked away under another smile that's already much closer to the brilliant Dick Grayson standard – as he gives a little wave and walks away. 

Wide awake but not sure what else to do with himself, Jason returns to the bedroom and faceplants onto the covers. He fishes for his phone on the nightstand without looking up, then levels himself up to a sitting position and sends a quick text to Tim. The messages contains the bare minimum of information: asking him to check in on Dick later but neglecting to explain why he might need looking after or how Jason came to know about that. He wonders whether Dick’s situation had been on record before he showed up here.

Tim’s reply is prompt and lacks in both sarcasm and emoticons, and that’s everything Jason needs to extrapolate the answer for _that_ question from.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
